


vive le diable

by tatou



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: I'm terrible, M/M, going with underage bc i said so, what is plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-27
Updated: 2013-11-27
Packaged: 2018-01-02 16:43:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1059166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tatou/pseuds/tatou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Do you think yourself clever, my captain?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	vive le diable

**Author's Note:**

> I'm still fairly new to this show and I shouldn't be writing this as technically I'm quite buried to the neck in other works, but in the short span of a few days I've become obsessed with Captain Pan. I'm going off budding headcanons and what I know so far, so don't expect things to be terribly accurate.

They say the jungle is its own type of devil, and maybe that is true.

 

There is the heat, the endless vegetation, the air that dries out your throat and the damp, messy soil with roots large enough to strangle a man. All this is more than enough to attest to that, Hook thinks warily. His boots have never looked so grimy. He is almost certain the hem of his coat has become more ragged than he has the means to mend. His face is burnt by the sun and his eyes are hollowed by the moon. He has eaten little (rum, always and only rum is on hand, always remains plentiful no matter how much he drinks, and he knows it's because Pan likes him drunk, of all things) and eaten late, and thrice since his arrival to the jungle's depths he has been startled by dark-masked beasts that only circle and run right past, like they couldn't be bothered to touch him.

 

There is life here, but it avoids him. Not tamed, but subdued, he realizes after the second day, walking further still.

 

His cheek stings from the snap of a branch. His feet ache. His map, tucked safely away to the inside of his coat, is damp with his sweat. If he weren't so tired he'd take care to move it somewhere safer.

 

There are things here more dangerous than some great beasts with pointed teeth and claws. There is the _wild_ life.

 

Hook cuts down a crop of low-hanging vines with a sharp flash of steel, breathing hard, hating the island's humid air and the wet sheen of perspiration along his temple and fingers. It makes his rings slide uncomfortably along his fingers and his hair itch. He pauses but for a single second to blink away a drop of sweat and finds himself inexplicably drawn to casting a searching gaze to his left, and there is _Pan_ but a few yards away, not-quite hidden by the tall reeds and underbrush, his own gaze purposeful and blatant.

 

He is not attempting to hide, not even remotely. He is not like the Lost Boys who shadow Hook's steps and muffle their malicious laughter behind trunks of trees. This is his domain: a prince has no need to tread lightly.

 

Dread fingers down the vertebrae of Hook's spine, one by one by one, stiffening his body in his alarm.

 

Neither says a word. The jungle, the island, it speaks for them for the moment; birds' calls whistle over their heads and the slight drizzle goes plink-plinking on, tapping leaves and the leather of Hook's coat like reminders that he is always followed.

 

“You might've announced your presence.” Hook says at length, sheathing his sword. There is no use of weapons around Pan, he has learned.

 

“Where would the fun in that be?” Pan asks, stepping forward. His eyes rake over Hook's figure but they betray no thought, no emotion. His brow remains lifted in mock jest, lips curved to show small white teeth. “You know I've always liked seeing you scared.”

 

Hook stares back, unimpressed. “Bad luck to scare a pirate.”

 

“Bad luck to ignore _me_.”

 

For a moment, it is tempting for Hook to take the reply as a challenge. He aches to see that youthful face twisted in fury; if there is anything Hook knows Pan hates it is to be ignored. Oh, the fun he has had with that particular revelation- doubtless doing so now would not turn out to his own favor, but the amusement would be worth it.

 

He tries his luck and says nothing, only continues his path forward. Wishful thinking though it might be, perhaps this time Pan will let him alone- just this once.

 

But he forgets so constantly that as long as he is on this terrain Pan knows his every thought and intent, and before he knows it he is near stumbling into the youth's frame. Path obstructed, Hook pulls away and scowls, mind spinning as Pan's face darkens.

 

“You're so foolish I often wonder at how you've managed to survive all this time.” He says tightly, stepping forward when Hook moves back. “For all your claims of being an excellent survivor, you do love to tempt death.”

 

Hook laughs, but the hatred in him snaps and boils, claws battering at his cage. “Are you saying you're finally going to _kill_ me?”

 

“Of course not. I don't kill what's mine.”

 

Peter's eyes flicker over Hook once more. He seems to find something he has said amusing, for then a short laugh cracks past his full mouth. “Not always.”

 

That smirk irritates him more than anything. It makes Hook want to lash out with his damaged arm and watch cold metal tear into flesh and heart, twist and yank out rags of veins. He doesn't belong to anyone, especially not this demon- _boy_ with his insolent, searching greedy looks and lips that stain red with the merest of smiles.

 

“Fuck you.” Hook spits, brain too addled by liquor to be more creative, but the venom is still there, rotted with its years of malnourishment. “Fuck off and leave me alone.”

 

Pan's expression doesn't change. He flickers to the pirate's side in seconds, gripping his throat in a grip too familiar, too tight. Killian snarls, digs his hook and nails into the boy's shoulders as hard as he can but there's no sign of pain, or blood.

 

“Don't be _ridiculous_ , Killian.” He utters, voice soft as the sinews of a new leaf. He runs the back of his free hand over the pirate's face, his expression turning to one of utter fascination, a dragon besotted with a gold trinket. “O my poor Captain, I think your drink's done you in.”

 

“And who do I have to blame for that.” Killian snaps back, infuriated with the soft words. He drops a hand to the flask at his hip, jiggling it. “Go on and give us a refill, I've run low again.”

 

“Sassing me will do nothing for you.” Pan smirks, thumbing over the pirate's lower lip, the pad of his thumb disturbing and itching the bristles of his unkempt jaw. “I would have your lips do something more worthwhile, instead.”

 

Hook's blood runs cold, like it always does when Pan's looks get too intrusive, his words too hungry. “And what might that be.”

 

Pan eases his grip off Hook's throat, but only for seconds before it's back again. This time it's softer, a caress across the taut lines of his tendons as Hook leans away from the touch. He begins talking into Hook's ear, pausing between the choiciest words to put out his tongue against the inside of the pirate's ear, rubbing lips with the flesh.

 

“First a kiss.” He says. “Then a promise of your devotion to me. You're an adult, I'm sure your filthy mind can fill in what happens after.”

 

“I'll not do anything of the kind.” Hook drawls, looking offended to his very core. “Least of all to a _child_.”

 

The slap of a palm stings him momentarily. When Hook's eyes have ceased their spinning view he sees Peter curling and rubbing his fingers, his soft palm irritated by the stubble of his jaw. It is a victory; a small, pathetic one. “But we both know I'm not that.” Says the not-boy.

 

Hook laughs, and certainly Pan is not a boy but he looks the part completely. “Think what you will.”

 

Peter's gaze hardens. Hook suppresses a shudder; he has overstepped his boundaries. Before he knows it he has been shoved swiftly down into a seated position, flush against a tree's base.

 

“Hook.” Pan murmurs, moving swiftly to seat himself in the Captain's lap, his smile one of razor edges and broken-glass teeth, “We've known each other a long time, you and I. You know me better than most of my boys. And yet you continue to defy me.”

 

Pan clenches his fist at Hook's nape, tugging heartily on the hairs. The pirate moves to shove the boy off him and his arms are forced to his sides by thick vines, held apart from his body.

 

“Do you think yourself clever, my captain?”

 

He lands a quick, biting kiss onto the pirate's lips, and like he can't help himself darts forward again for another, then a third and fourth. Held taut against a tree's base, Hook can't do anything but purse his lips into a tight line and grunt in dismay, face crumpling in disgust when a pink tongue runs hungrily below his lower lip. Pan nestles his temple in the crook of Killian's neck, rubbing against him in a manner that might be deemed affectionate.

 

“You're not.” He continues. “Here, on my island, you constantly forget the power I hold over you.”

 

And he may be right, but Hook has never been one to take anything lying down. “No _boy_ holds any power over me.”

 

“Is that right?”

 

Pan presses closer to him, pushing Hook's spine uncomfortably against the tree, making him grunt. The pirate's eyes are shaded with hatred; beautiful. He struggles against Pan, bucking his hips to overthrow the lithe body atop him, and cries out in surprise when the boy rubs back, having eagerly anticipated the move.

 

“It seems I have found yet _another_ power over you.” Pan crows, his eyes alight with his new triumph. He speaks into the pirate's flesh, uttering the smallest of pleasured sounds as he rocks slender hips against Hook's. “How I love seeing you so breathless, Killian. Do you feel what it does to me?”

 

“Stop,” Hook breathes, his arms jerking uselessly against his restraints, his eyes rolling back into his head when Peter begins to caress his neck with lips perfectly full and slick. “Stop!”

 

“But we've been playing this game for _so_ long.” Peter replies, pouting sickeningly. “All our endless years of chasing and sneaking and teasing... don't get me wrong, I do enjoy it, but at some point there must be _give_.”

 

Hook groans; there is an undeniable heat roiling about his groin, hazing his mind. He stiffens when he feels fingers trace down the front of his jacket, dipping into the spaces behind the elaborate buttons and following the patterns along his lapels. He thinks of the other times he has felt those hands upon him, those lips upon his ears and his body is wracked with shivers; his erection bulges the front of his pants, cruelly encased in his leathers.

 

Fingers brush and cup him, and Hook grunts louder than before, his hips snapping forward to meet the palm that squeezes. Pan's eyes have opened now- he stares so boldly at Hook, so hungrily that the pirate thinks he might lose his sense of self completely, utterly lost within the boy-demon's green orbs. Peter squeezes him again, baring his teeth in a delighted snarl as his captured Captain cries out in choked ecstasy.

 

“Stop!” He insists again, weakly, grinding his teeth to bear his hate. Pan only laughs.

 

“But you've dreamed of this since our meeting.” He mocks. “Are you telling me now that what I hold here in my palm” (he squeezes again, pressing down roughly and Hook shouts, blistering in his agonized wanting) “is not evidence of that? You can lie to all but you cannot lie to me, Killian.”

 

His breaths come in sharp pants: too late he realizes Peter has arched closer, and when there is another rub to his groin he cries out and earns himself a mouthful of Peter.

 

The boy, green-eyed demon that he is, laughs into Hook's mouth, spreading the pirate's lips with his tongue and savoring the taste of him, undoing the fastenings of his pants and belt with nimble fingers, pushing greedy hands inside to grasp blazing, thick flesh. The moment his fingers come into contact with Hook's erection the pirate jerks forward once more, blue eyes hidden beneath tightly screwed lids.

 

He does not want to open his eyes, nor does he want to have his gaze inevitably drawn to the boy's own, his reddened lips, eager fingers and tented pants. He feels lips at his ear again and flinches, appalled.

 

“Would you like me to better this situation?” Pan questions slyly. “I can only imagine how much more you would feel should I let you have me, Killian. Your desires are not so different from mine, surely a simple taste would sway your judgment of me.”

 

Hook can't breathe. His lungs don't seem to draw in enough air, his mouth gapes but he finds no air. Peter strokes cunning cruel hands along his shaft, thumbing endlessly over the leaking slit, smiling calmly but with such an edge of malice to his lips that Hook can nearly taste it. He is harder than before, bruising with every touch the boy leaves upon him.

 

“So you'd like to think.” He retorts with difficulty, struggling to get out his fast fading fury.

 

Pan shifts against him; there is the rustling of belts and clothing and then there is hot, smooth flesh against him, taut naked thighs wrapping round his own. Hook cannot help himself; he whimpers low in his throat and Peter laughs, victorious.

 

“So I'll prove.” The boy corrects, fumbling with something.

 

Abruptly Hook's good hand is released. Before he can get out a good swing at Peter there is another hand pressing into his, lacing their fingers together and slicking something cold and wet along and between his own. When he goes to pull away he is held fast; the substance between their palms squelches.

 

Opening his eyes reveals to him a smirking Pan, shirt unbuttoned haphazardly to reveal unmarked flesh, cock ruddy and stiff with wanting. He is perched in Hook's lap like one of the island's native birds, the kind that thrusts its victims at the branches and impales them there. Peter is one of their kind: he has had Hook tangled in his sharp talons and wild earth since the very beginning, thrown him against rock and branch and wind, and now he is ready to _feast_.

 

“Go on.” He taunts. “Do it. I'd hate to force you.”

 

Hook stares at their connected palms. Lines of slick dribble down his wrist, pool around his rings.

 

“If I do this,” He bites out, struggling to focus past the hypnotic pumping of Pan's lazy fist, “Will you leave me alone?”

 

Peter shakes his head slowly, his lips never ceasing their terrible, amused quirk. This is all a game to him, one he has undoubtedly waited far too long to play. “A terrible bargain. You know we'll never cease to be, you and I.”

 

He leans in once more to press that youthful cheek to Hook's shoulder, breathing his hateful stunning words over the dark aged leather of his coat. “Willing or not, I'll have you at my side, my captain, and it will be like the days past. And no one,” He says, slurring slightly as Hook's hand detaches slowly from his and moves hesitantly down, and in, “shall touch you but I.”

 

 The devil, Hook thinks to himself, and to Pan, who sits there crowing in delight as the pirate's fingers move within him, even then reading his every thought, is not the island, nor the savage, stupid jungle. Such a title can only belong to the creature sat upon his lap, and no other.

 


End file.
